We Are Neighbors
by poohblaze
Summary: Mark and Milt go visiting


We Are Neighbors

Notes: Well, I'll try again. This one is early on, right after Going Nowhere Fast. The book Mark mentions is real. I read it in kindergarten. I was so proud.

Two cats seemed a bit unambitious for an old lady living alone but when he mentioned this to Hardcase, the Judge glared at him. "She's younger than I am, McCormick."

"Your point?"

Hardcastle just snorted. "Would you just be nice. We're just going to apologize. Have some tea and be done with it. These people are my neighbors. Your neighbors. You have to learn to live with people, McCormick."

Mark McCormick blew out a breath and looked towards the door that their hostess had dispapeared through. To go get them tea. Tea. "When did my life become Masterpiece Theater?"

"Do you want to zip it?"

Mark sighed. "Okay, okay. I just don't see why I have to go house to house apologizing for, what did you call it? Yeah, the disruption to the community caused by J.J. Beale. He should be the one apologizing."

"He's a little busy apologizing to the State of California."

Mark allowed himself a smug smile. "That's going to be one long apology."

Beside him, the Judge chuckled. "Could take years."

Mark stretched his legs out and settled back more fully on the couch. They were in some place that Mrs. Richardson called her morning room. It was getting along towards 11:30 though, so maybe they'd have to move. The room was about the size of the living room in the gatehouse. It was stuffed with furniture. Also with two cats. Neither cat paid much attention to them. One was on a windowsill curled up and sleeping in the sun. Mark kind of envied that one. The other was perched on the mantlepiece, surveying the room with a general air of grumpiness. Mark named that one Milt. He idly watched the cat and spoke. "At least Mrs. Richardson is nicer than the last one. Ned Whosis."

"Brandt. He's okay."

"Okay?" Mark said incrdulously. "He took one look at me and said, "Not another one, Hardcastle.""

Hardcastle shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. Uh, sorry about that, kiddo. Ned and I have, um, a little history."

Mark looked at him suspiciously. "History? You didn't send him to prison did you?"

"I don't send everyone I meet to prison," the Judge retorted.

"Oh good. I was just special then."

Hardcastle huffed and remained silent, apparently not wanting to start this discussion again. Mark let it drop. He really didn't feel like getting into it either. It was getting harder and harder to maintian the proper level of righteous indignation about the whole thing. Sometimes, like now, when he sat on fat sofa in a late morning room and waited for tea to be served by a sweet faced not quite old lady, it all seemd so far away. LIke when he agreed to be Tonto he had somehow passed through the looking glass. McCormick in Hardcastleland.

Milt the cat abruptly jumped off the mantlepiece and disappeared into a forest of upholstery. Mark eyed the space he had vacated. Framed photos were displayed on the shelf, just like at Gulls Way. Bored and curious, Mark levered himself up and went to take a look. The Judge watched him. "Dont break anything."

"Yeah, yeah." There were several pictre frames lined up on the mantlepiece. One or two were black and white. The color ones were slightly faded. One of the balck and white ones was an old portrait of a man in uniform. Mr. Richardson, Mark guessed. Hardcastle hadn't mentioned him so Mark figured he was lost, either to death or divorce. In the photo he was staring off into the distance with a pleasant but determined look on his face. Mar could imagine Mrs. Richardson showing off the photo. "This is my fella. He's stationed at Pearl." Mark smiled to himself and looked at the next photo. This one was in color. It was a much younger Ellen Richardson standing next to a pretty, slightly chubby teenage girl. The girl looked about sixteen, one of the sullen years, apparently. Shel looked like she was barely tolerating her mother's arm on her shoulder. Stupid kid. Mrs. Richardson was smiling brightly. "Here's my beautiful daughter." A third picture made him smile. A lttle blonde girl, six or seven years old, was standing in a garden. Her hand clutched a grubby flower which she held out to the camera. She was wearing a short dress with a full skirt. She looked like she stepped out of a picture book. Totally outside Mark's experience and yet completely familiar. "Betty," he said softly.

"What?"

Mark turned his head towards the Judge, a bemused smile on his face. "I said, Betty."

"Did you get to much sun? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh!"

Mark smothered a grin at Ellen Richardson's timing. She stood in the doorway carrying a tray and looking uncertainly at Hardcastle. The Judge sprang up all concillatory smiles and removed the tray from her hands. He took it to the coffee table and Mark reclaimed his seat. Hardcastle sat next to him and Mrs Richardson sat opposite in a yellow armchair. "You really shouldn't have gone to any trouble, Ellen," the Judge said, "we're just here to apologize for the disturbance the other day."

Mrs. Richardson was leaning over fussing with plates and cups. She lifted her head at this. "Oh, Milt, it's no trouble. I enjoy having you here. One person alone can really rattle around in these old houses. I'm sure you know."

Mark sent a quick, surreptitious look at the Judge. He was staring down at the coffee table. Mark saw his jaw work for a moment before he replied. "Sure," he said easily. Then he picked up one of the tiny sandwiches that Mark hadn't noticed sitting on the tray. Hardcastle lifted it up, smiled widely at Ellen Richardson and said brightly. "Hey, are these yours?"

She beamed back at him. "From the vegetable garden. Just picked." She included Mark in her smile. "I'll have you know I'm known for my vegetable garden. The cucumbers in these sandwiches were picked just yesterday."

Mark hesitantly picked up a sandwich. It was stuffed with green things. Cucumber sandwiches. Geez, any minute Alastair Cooke would ring the doorbell. Hardcastle took a bite our of his and looked at him pointedly. Mark sighed silently and bit into it, accutely aware that both Hardcase and Mrs. Richardson were watching him for his reaction. It was crunchy and watery and had a bit of a tang. He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. Then he swallowed and smiled at Mrs. Richardson. "Hey, these are good. You grew these?"

She smiled back at him and seemed to relax. "Yes, I did. You'll have to take a look at the vegetable plot while you're here."

Mark nodded. A vegetable plot. In Malibu. He wondered what it looked like. He'd actually never seen one before. "Are they hard to grow?"

"Not terribly. No harder than Milt's roses, I would guess. I have some seedlings I can give you if you want to try."

"Really? That would be great. The Judge has a lot of flowers and all. Don't get me wrong, they're real pretty, but it would be pretty cool to grow your own vegetables."

Out of the corner of his eye Mark caught the Judge staring at him. "What?"

Hardcastle smiled, "Nothing."

Mark stared at him for a moment and then shrugged and went back to Mrs. Richardson. Hardcastle watched silently as they leaned towards eachother and discussed proper fertilizing technique. He reached for another sandwich. They would have been better with a little bacon.

Mark carried a tray of seedlings as they walked through the grounds headed back towards Gulls Way. Ellen, and she was Ellen now, had given him some tomato slips as well "just to try." He hoped they'd work. His expertise tended more towards the concrete end of things. With the try in hsi hands, he was forced to pick his way carefully through the hedges. There were about eight million acres of lawn between the two houses, but Hardcastle had apparently decided that trudging through the back forty was somehow character building and had refused to let him drive. "You know," he grumbled, "normal people can't land a 747 in their backyard."

"Oh you were all for great big lawns and gardens when you were sucking up to Mrs. Richardson."

Mark grinned at him, "Ellen."

Hardcastle rolled his eyes, "Ellen," he said mockingly. Mark half expected him to start singing about the two of them sitting in a tree.

"She was nice. I liked her."

Hardcastle relented and smiled lightly, "Yeah, she is."

"Hey Judge, was that her daughter in the picture?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah," he gave Mark a puzzled frown. "What was that Betty stuff?"

"Oh, " Mark laughed a little self-consciously, "The picture of her as a little girl. She looked just like Betty."

"You knew someone like that?"

"Oh God, no. It was in a book." The Judge just kept giving him a puzzled look. "A reader, if you must know."

"A reader?"

"You know, those books they give you to teach you how to read."

"Yeah, I know what a reader is. Just didn't realize you could read."

"Oh, ha, ha. Just because some of use didn't learn on the original stone tablets."

"Very funny. So this Betty was the heroine. With her dog, Spot?"

"Not Spot. I forget the dog's name. We Are Neighbors. The adventures of Betty and her brother Tom."

Mark waited for a retort, but there was none. The Judge was walking silently, his eyes on the main house. The silence stretched and Mark began to wonder what he'd done now. He shifted the tray in his hands and said, "Um, where shall I plant these."

"Anywhere you like."

"Anywhere?"

"I don't care."

"Oh." They walked silently for a few minutes and then Mark said tentatively. "She sure is good with plants."

For a moment he didn't think Hardcastle would answer but he finally said. "That's what she does. Putters in her garden."

"Oh," Mark said quietly.

They continued walking and Mark heard the Judge give a large sigh. "Her real name was Karen."

"Pretty name," Mark said cautiously.

"Yeah. Cute little girl. Used to tumble around a lot. Loved flowers. Nancy used to give her roses."

"That sounds nice," Mark meant it. To be playing in the garden. Skipping along the beach. Having your mom's arm around your shoulder. Nice. "Where is she now?"

Hardcastle shook his head. "I don't know. No one does. Last Ellen heard from her was in, what, '68, '69?"

Mark looked at him in shock. That cute little Betty girl. "What happened?"

"Drugs." It came out bitter, resigned, and very weary.

Mark stopped walking. After a few strides, Hardcastle realized he was no longer at his shoulder and he too stopped. He turned his head to look back at Mark. "Man, I do not get that," Mark said vehemently.

Hardcastle looked at him, surprised at the intensity of his reaction. "Lot of kids fell into drugs."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Mark looked around him. They had just crossed into Gulls Way. "But to have all this and then to just throw it away. I just do not get that."

"Bad things happen, kid," Hardcastle said curtly. "Even to Tom and Betty. You think rich people are immune? Just 'cause they have nice houses and lots of stuff, nothing bad will ever happen to them? Think again."

Mark shook his head back and forth, anger sharpening his words."I don't mean the houses and the stuff. You thought I meant that?" He gestured with his chin. "I mean all this. The gardens. The lawn. The roses. The beach. Hell, the cucumbers. I mean, it's beautiful. Do you guys even realize that? To have all this and just to forget about it. To forget it's even here for you? That's what I don't get. No matter what's going on out there in the world. This is beautiful. And I would never, ever forget that. I would never give that up."

The Judge blinked at him. For a long moment neither of them said anything. Mark started feeling a little foolish at being so dramatic. He shifted from foot to foot and tried to think of something smart mouthed to say to make it all go away. But the Judge spoke first. And when he did the earlier chill was gone. "Yeah," Hardcastle said slowly, "Yeah. I realize all this is beautiful. Sometimes I forget for a little while though. Doesn't hurt to be reminded." The Judge's eyes did that rare softening thing and he looked appraisingly at Mark. Then he turned and continued trudging towards the main house. "So where are you going to plant those?"

Mark trailed after him. "You said anywhere."

"Anywhere within reason. Don't go digging up my roses."

"Would I do that?"

"You'd do anything to get out of pruning them."

Mark angled away from him and started heading towards the gatehouse. "It'll be a surprise. One day you'll be walking around and trip over a vegetable garden."

Hardcastle stopped and watched him go. Mark was weaving through the rose bushes, the tray now balanced on his head. The roses were pink and yellow and red. Hardcastle smiled and shook his head. "You better not start feeding me cucumber sandwiches."

Mark's voice carried back as he turned a corner and disappeared. "You just don't know what's good for you."

Hardcastle turned and again headed for the house. "That's where you're wrong, kiddo."

END


End file.
